Buch lesen: «Sensual Winds»

He’d never been kissed like this before, and he held her there, enjoying the journey through this uncharted and gentle place

She caressed the back of his head, and when he thought she was separating from him, he was filled with irrational longing, and he grabbed her arms and used his lips to capture her by the chin.

He’d seen animals mate on nature shows, their foreplay of nipping one another playful and gentle, and he understood that visceral animalistic instinct to claim one and make that one his own.

Purring started deep in her belly, and he put his arms around her, knowing she felt that magnetism too, and when the moans were nearly out of her, he sealed her mouth with his so they released into him.

The pressure of her mouth lessened and she eased off her toes, her hands busy at his waist. Her fingers tangled with his as they battled for who’d get his belt loosened first.

“Let me.”

“I can do it faster,” he told her.

CARMEN GREEN

was born in Buffalo, New York, and had plans to study law before becoming a published author. While raising her three children, she wrote her first book on legal pads and transcribed it onto a computer on weekends before selling it in 1993. Since that time she has sold more than thirty novels and novellas, and is proud that one of her books was made into a 2001 TV movie, Commitments, in which she had a cameo role.

In addition to writing full-time, Carmen is now a mom of four, and lives in the Southeast. You can contact Carmen at www.carmengreen.blogspot.com or carmengreen1201@yahoo.com.

Sensual Winds

Carmen Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Lori Bryant Woolridge, Nina Foxx, Martrice Denson.

I’ll cherish our friendship always.

To the Sparrow. I’ll see you in the Rapture someday.

Dear Reader,

To the sensual backdrop of Herbie Hancock’s CD Possibilities, Brenda Jackson and I brainstormed our MOTHER NATURE MATCHMAKER novels over the phone one evening.

I am always honored to work with a master, and Brenda is one of the best in our profession. She’s chock-full of ideas and always respectful of mine. Ironically, when we got on the phone, we both had our TVs tuned to the same station and the documentary was chronicling how Herbie created his masterpiece. My favorite song on the CD? “A Song for You.”

I’m honored to have worked with Brenda and Celeste Norfleet on this series, and I want you all to enjoy our highly favored men of Key West. My thanks to Brenda and Celeste and to you all for giving us the opportunity to entertain you once again.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on my book Sensual Winds. Write to me at carmengreen.blogspot.com or carmengreen1201@yahoo.com.

Blessings,

Carmen

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

There was a rhythm to New York City at 7:00 p.m. that no other city could duplicate. Throngs of people streamed down sidewalks and into streets, the innocuous traffic lights controlling every man and woman, car, taxi and bus.

Today Manhattan was a little different; brightened by the mayor, who’d declared it Smile Day. Dozens of volunteers had been dispatched around Manhattan to take pictures of anyone who was smiling, and then they were given their photo.

Today, everybody was smiling in New York City at dusk.

Ten floors up from the bustling streets, Doreen Gamble sat at her desk and touched the corner of her smiling photo. Her pace had been frenetic at lunch. She had been trying to balance a tray of two large cups of green tea, a boxy Crate and Barrel wedding gift for a coworker, a prized bag of Christian Louboutin silk lace-up sandals and a political magazine when she’d been asked if she wanted to brighten up New York with her smile. It didn’t hurt that the photographers had goofy Smile tiaras on their heads.

They’d been so irresistible, she’d been glad to show off her whitened, otherwise uncorrected thirty-twos. She didn’t even mind donating to the charity that supported the 9/11 memorial fund. She’d arrived back at work feeling as if she’d done some good for the world.

The back line rang, and her thoughts returned to the here and now. Doreen hoped it was Lucas. Lately, his no-news updates had left her disappointed, but she hoped he had some good news today.

“Good morning—evening, sorry,” Doreen corrected, shoving her long hair behind her ear. “How may I help you?”

“You work so much you don’t even know if it’s day or night? Tell that woman of mine to give you a day off.”

Lucas McCoy’s voice had the power to make her feel as if even on her worst day she was the prettiest girl in the room. If he made every woman feel this way, it was no wonder he did more renovation jobs for women than men.

Who could help having a tiny crush on him? She couldn’t.

“Put me on webcam, Doreen,” he said. She blushed, wishing she’d had a few extra minutes to fix herself up. Lucas wasn’t her man, but she still didn’t want to look bad to him.

She did as he instructed. “We’re on. Hey there,” she said, seeing the handsome man who was in his jeans and T-shirt.

“Hi.” He waved. “Now, about the crazy hours you work. You need to stand up for yourself. Stomp around your desk with your picket sign. She’ll get the hint.”

Doreen laughed. “Yeah, okay. I like having a job. Besides, would she care? I don’t think so. My job is to be here, at seven at night, waiting for a phone call from that crazy, distant place called Key West, and a man named Lucas who’s calling to tell me about an Alfiere Italian sink. Tell me you have good news.”

She’d said it all as if she were in a poetry reading, letting the words drop and roll in all the right places.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, trying to look sad. “This is a ‘bad news, good news’ webcam call.”

Doreen groaned. “I have to say, Lucas, I’m disappointed.”

“And if you make that sound again, I’ll be coming through the camera to make that disappointment go away.”

“Lucas McCoy, you’re an engaged man,” she chastised, her neck burning at the volley. Lucas’s good looks hadn’t been lost on Doreen. She had always been attracted to tall men, considering she was five-ten.

He looked like the corporate type, too, with short hair and a sexy goatee, and smooth, chocolate-colored skin that reminded her of melted kisses. She knew from her boss that he was thirty; in fact, Emma had boasted about dating a man nine years younger. But Lucas was the perfect age for her, only a year older.

“Doreen, where has that wandering mind taken you?”

She shook herself. “Nowhere, Lucas. What did you say?” Guiltily she paid attention.

“You know my fiancée hasn’t been down here in eight months, and if she doesn’t get her butt down here soon, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Emma wants to see you, but her promotion means big things here at Regents Cable.” Doreen sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, relieved he still sounded playful. “She’s the first black woman to hold the title of VP of urban development, and they’re expecting great things from her.”

“I know.” Lucas didn’t look like he cared one thing about the excuse. “I’m not begrudging her career success. Not for a second. But a man needs his woman, especially one he’s proposed to. Anyway, we’ll work it out. Meanwhile, let me update you on the renovations.”

Happy to be on safer ground, Doreen rested her elbow on the desk and sighed. “Let me guess. Which wall have you knocked down now?”

“I haven’t knocked down any walls. All fifteen rooms have walls. The library, great room, game room, kitchen, laundry room, both offices, tackle room and—”

“Hold it. What’s a tackle room?”

“A room for when I come in from fishing. I need a room for my tackle.” He looked serious as he said it until he started laughing. “I needed a couple sinks to gut and clean the fish, too. Not unless she wants me in the kitchen, and I just don’t see that happening.”

He sounded like the old Lucas now. The fun-loving, happy guy who used to call several times a day seeking Emma’s advice. Initially Emma had sounded happy about the house Lucas had been renovating for them in Key West, then she’d come in one day and confessed over a nonfat latte that she wasn’t interested in wallpaper swatches and drywall width, so she’d dropped the whole project and his calls into Doreen’s lap. Now they talked about everything from wood to wallpaper every day.

Doreen pretended to shiver. “I’ve seen one fish gutted and I don’t ever have to see it again,” she said. His laughter conjured up for her sexy, if illicit, images of him. “Go on.”

“The formal dining and breakfast rooms are done. Oh, and the master suite is done. One bedroom upstairs is done, but we’re still working on the foyer. The floor in the powder room on the main level needs a little work, and of course the other three bedrooms are unfinished. Those are rooms Emma won’t want to use right away, but if I have my say…”

He was talking about children, of course. Which Emma had confessed to her just last week she’d never really wanted.

“I’m sure you’ll compromise,” Doreen said, hating knowing Emma’s side while hearing the wistful dreams in Lucas’s voice. Doreen couldn’t look at him. Who wouldn’t want kids with him? She’d grown up alone and had longed for brothers and sisters, if only to fill the loneliness of losing her mother early.

“Doreen, I can practically hear my biological clock ticking.”

Laughter snaked out of her like a curl of smoke. “You are out of your mind today, Lucas. What’s up with you?”

He groaned. “The question is what’s right. Nothing. Must be this Hurricane Ana. Gorgeous name for a woman, but the storm’s a real witch. She came through a couple days ago and she’s still dogging our island. We need a break. I need some vitamin D, some sunshine, wine and a good woman.”

“I’ve heard the reports, Lucas. But I thought you grew up in Key West. You’re not used to the weather down there?”

“I am, but I spent a lot of time in New York as a young man. My father was from Harlem and my mother from the Keys. My father wanted me to be a stockbroker like him. I became one and hated it.”

“When did you have time for that and school to become an architect?”

“You have to have a major and a minor,” he said, smiling.

“My goodness,” she said, impressed. “You must have been some type of genius.”

Lucas pretended to straighten a tie he wasn’t wearing. “You know I try to tell my best friends, Stephen and Terrence, to bow to my brilliance, but they don’t give a damn. They’re always telling me to shut up.”

Doreen burst out laughing. “Do they beat you up a little, too?”

“They know better.”

“So, what’s going on with the marble? You never told me. Are you still holding out hope that it will come in? If you are, forget it. It’s not too late to go with bamboo. Innovative, right?”

She nervously fingered her hair, hoping he’d take the bait and not want to talk about Emma. Doreen didn’t think she could handle a talk about what he should do about her boss.

“More like crazy. Stop worrying. I’ve got a guy.”

Doreen started laughing again. She loved the expression “I’ve got a guy.” Here in the city, having “a guy” usually involved something illegal. “Lucas, I’m hanging up now. I’m not listening to your story about how something fell off the back of a truck.”

“Ms. Gamble, I’m appalled at the direction of your thoughts. I would never participate in anything unsavory.”

“What about Mo?”

“I plead the Fifth on Mo. I don’t know what the hell he does,” he said, and they both chuckled. “I thought you wanted to hear about your sink?”

Her sink.

Now that was quite an oxymoron. The sink was no more hers than the house was. She was merely stepping in for her boss. Emma had cringed at the idea of domestication, preferring the big paycheck. She’d been unflinching in her quest for success, practicing her acquired skill set of delegating with executive aplomb.

“Lucas to Doreen,” he singsonged when her attention wavered again. “What’s with you today?”

“Just thinking of all the things I have to do when I get home. Forgive me. Please tell me about m—the sink.”

“Okay.” The excitement was all over his face. “The Italian-designed, ceramic-valve construction and polished chrome fit perfectly in that small space. It totally complements the wall coloring you suggested last month.”

Lucas’s voice had dropped as if he were now reading poetry.

“It’s sexy, if I can use that term to describe a bathroom sink. One of the best choices you made for this house.”

Joy was one of those emotions Doreen rarely felt, but Lucas’s compliment made her feel a deep sense of satisfaction. She could hardly stop herself from floating out of her West Forty-Fourth Street window. Doreen planted her cheek on her hand. “You flatter me. Please, make me feel good some more.”

“When you say it like that, I feel obligated to tell you that I’m promised to another woman—but if I weren’t, I’d take you up on your offer.”

Doreen couldn’t believe that a tiny scream leapt out of her mouth. Lucas’s voice had struck the right note at the heart of her loneliness. “I’d better go. I believe that I have a brain leak that needs to be plugged with food and sleep.”

“No harm done,” he said, laughing.

Doreen put her hand over the webcam to experience the full bloom of embarrassment. Could she humiliate herself any further?

Lucas was so cool about everything, but she needed to sever these evening talks. All of her friends had said so. Doreen took her hand off the camera and stood up, the nonverbal cue that a meeting was over. “No harm except to my ego,” she admitted. “Have a good night, Lucas.”

“Hey, don’t go. We’re cool, okay? I still haven’t gotten my furniture yet.”

He didn’t want to hang up. Damn Emma!

Doreen shook her head, locking her knees, making herself remain standing. “You have lawn chairs. Bring them inside and watch your too-big television and eat off paper plates.”

“Now you’re being cruel. They’re reinforced cardboard or something.”

“Only the best for you,” she said, the marquee down the street flashing the start time of The Color Purple.

“I need to speak to Emma. Is she around?”

Doreen looked over her shoulder to her boss’s closed door and shook her head. “No, she’s in a meeting. I’ll leave a note for her to call you, okay?”

“Doreen, I hope I didn’t offend you earlier.”

“No. I have guy friends and they tease me all the time.” Liar. She straightened her already-tidy desk, willing her legs to relax before she got a charley horse.

“Good,” he said, unaware of the lingering pain she felt at not having a man for herself. But that wasn’t his business. “Emma knew I was calling, right?”

She felt as if he was right next to her. “Yes, I gave her your message this morning.”

“And her schedule was clear at that time.”

Doreen bit her lip, saying nothing. As big as her crush was, she couldn’t tell him that Emma had reviewed the message on her computer and deleted it within seconds. Doreen couldn’t say that. She wished he couldn’t even see her.

“I need to speak to her right now. I need to know what time to pick her up from the airport tomorrow.” He said it as if it were a challenge she could promptly rise to meet.

Doreen’s fingers quickly flew across the keyboard, accessing Emma’s schedule. She hadn’t known anything about Emma going to Florida this weekend. As far as she knew, her boss was scheduled to go to the annual sales meeting in the Poconos.

“Lucas, can I have her call you back? I can’t disturb her right now. In fact, I was just leaving.”

Lying to him wasn’t what she wanted to do, but she didn’t want to get fired for crossing the line of professionalism.

In truth, she’d been waiting for Emma to discuss the new job listing of director of special events that had just been posted. They’d talked about it months ago, when they’d gotten word that the position was being created, but Emma had been tight-lipped lately. Doreen hadn’t minded being her assistant when Emma was the director of promotions, but she’d just been promoted to vice president, and her new position would take her to the corporate office where an administrative assistant would be provided, so Doreen would have to make the adjustment to a new boss or become a boss herself.

If she hadn’t already been doing the job, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so strongly about applying, but she knew everything it entailed and she was up for the challenge.

No, now was not the time to go where this conversation with Lucas was heading. Lately his discontent was becoming more apparent, and Doreen didn’t want to be in the middle of his crumbling relationship with Emma. Neither seemed to be aware of the direction it was heading in, and Doreen didn’t want to play marriage counselor. She was single for a reason.

“It’s nearly seven-thirty, and you’re still there, Dorie.” Calling her by the nickname he’d coined ratcheted up her guilt like a crane with a bar of girded steel. Doreen felt caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel, except she didn’t know what the fight was about.

“Lucas, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening here.”

“I’ve left messages and she hasn’t returned my calls. We make plans for the house and she doesn’t follow through. Since I can’t get her on the phone—” He paused and Doreen waited a beat too long.

“This may be the last message you have to deliver. Tell Emma if she doesn’t come to Florida tomorrow, I’ll consider us over.” Then he hung up.

Chapter 2

Lucas could have kicked himself before he fully pushed the disconnect button.

“Doreen? Doreen?” Why had he involved Doreen in his and Emma’s relationship problems? It wasn’t her fault that he was a failure at having—or not having—a fiancée.

Before he made another mistake, he tried to think things through. In the past he’d been quick to think the worst of women when they didn’t call, or if they called too much; if they didn’t stay, or if they wanted to stay. If they drank, or if they didn’t drink.

During the past five years, he’d just about driven himself crazy wondering what women wanted from men. And then he started listening to his DJ friend Terrence. As crazy as he had been in the past with his off-the-wall ideas about relationships, the brother now made sense, and Lucas tuned in to his radio show whenever he had the chance.

According to Terrence, women wanted good men who treated them like they were worth something. But a man had to be selective, too. He had to choose carefully, because there were some crazy ladies out there.

Lucas thought about how he’d found Emma in New York. His company had won the contract to renovate three floors of the office building she worked in. He’d seen her for a couple weeks going to her boss’s office for a meeting, and then one day he approached her. They’d dated happily for months, and then he accepted another renovation project in Key West, his mother’s hometown.

Emma had assured him dating long distance wouldn’t be a problem, as long as they were committed. She’d been all for it for the first two years, but in these last eight months, their relationship had all but evaporated like some of the local lakes.

He’d ignored the signs, and his fading love for her, hoping she’d come around and still want to move to Key West like she’d promised, so they could be together and rekindle their true feelings for each other. This weekend was the test. If she came, he’d told himself, they’d live happily ever after.

If she didn’t show up, they’d go their separate ways.

The next day, Lucas hammered nails into the roof.

Terrence was right. When a woman didn’t call you back, somebody else was probably occupying her mind and her time.

Lucas descended from the roof to check on his foreman, Mo, who was installing granite flooring in the foyer and lower bathroom. He stayed outside on the porch, his hands on the white siding as he leaned into the house. Only Mo and Rog were allowed to enter through the front door while the granite was being installed. The materials were too expensive and delicate.

Mo looked up and followed a carefully laid path of crisscrossed boards that never touched the foyer floor.

Lucas grasped his foreman’s hand and pulled him out of the house. “How’s it coming?”

They leaned in like spies. “Good,” Mo replied. “This needs to dry for four more hours, and then we’ll come back and redo any areas that show unevenness. Everything is cut to perfection, even the corners. Looks easy, doesn’t it?”

Mo was a big Mexican man who’d been born in America. He knew how to build a house better than anyone Lucas had ever met. More than that, he knew great craftsmanship.

Lucas nodded. “It does, but will it be ready in time?”

As they talked, Rog never stopped working. The Italian craftsman had been in the country for six months, working with an outfit that had suddenly gone out of business, stranding him. He’d been doing day labor when Mo had snapped him up. His work was flawless.

Lucas tipped back his baseball cap and scratched his head. “Tomorrow is the magic hour. Will this be ready?”

Mo consulted Rog. They discussed everything in Italian, one of the three languages Mo spoke. Lucas knew only about two hundred words of Spanish, so he was lost.

He looked toward heaven. He needed for everything to be perfect. His relationship with Emma had been far from it. In fact, lately they’d had no relationship at all, and he was concerned that after all this effort for her to like everything in the house, he’d be the one to call their wedding off.

Mo told him what he wanted to hear. “We’ll be ready, if I pick up his wife and two daughters from the airport.” He looked like he’d bitten into a bad apple.

Lucas extended his hand to Rog, laughing at Mo. “Excellent.”

Rog shook his hand and then kissed Lucas on both cheeks. Mo hurried down the stairs before he was the recipient of Rog’s affection.

“Ciao.” Rog rushed back to work as Lucas wiped his face off with his sleeve, Mo laughing from the sidewalk.

“He drives me crazy when he does that,” Mo told him. “I try to stay away from him. He cries a lot, too.”

“And you don’t? Every time Armella and the kids leave, you’re a waterspout.”

“Hey! Don’t say that too loud. The men won’t respect me,” Mo said, looking around to see if anyone had heard Lucas.

They checked on the progress of the workers whose job it was to clean up the property after Hurricane Ana. It had come through as a Category One a couple days ago and rumbled out to sea, but in a freak turn of events, it seemed to reverse direction and was once again taking aim on south Florida. The I-10 had been reopened this morning and traffic had resumed, but the storm would be back wreaking havoc once again in a couple days.

In fact, dark clouds already clung to the horizon.

As if he read his mind, Mo said, “This storm smells like trouble.”

“Don’t be a pessimist.” Lucas waited a few seconds. “Emma’s coming tomorrow.”

“Is that why you look like you got caught with your hand in the candy jar? The airport opened up?”

“I did something, but not that bad, and yes, the airport is open. All those people need to be recycled.” Lucas tried to laugh. He felt anxious knowing Emma was coming, yet she still hadn’t called. Doreen hadn’t called back, either. He guessed she’d given up and gone home. He would have, and let him and Emma deal with their own problems.

The workers tossed onto the ground plywood that had been used during the last storms. Much of it had disintegrated from too much water.

“Lucas, how honest can I be with you?” Mo said, his Spanish accent sounding musical. He was about to share some wisdom.

Lucas eyed his friend. “You want to get paid today?”

“Okay,” Mo said, “straight up. You haven’t seen her in a long time. Eight months. The house isn’t finished and you’re not a raving lunatic. You would think you’d want everything to be perfect. Do you care?”

Caught off guard, Lucas considered his question. “Yeah. You saw me pressing Rog.”

“Our talk was a little more extensive. I promised him a few things for the family. It’ll cost you about a hundred dollars. You have to pick them up while I run to the airport. I’ll make a list.”

Lucas snorted good-naturedly. “The bastard.”

Both men chuckled.

“All I’m saying is when you first got here from New York, I had to institute a ‘no cell phone’ rule on the job.”

Lucas smiled.

“You stepped off the roof eave backwards, fell half a story and separated your shoulder. You fell through the floor at the Wilcox mall refurbishment, requiring an ambulance and fifteen stitches. I don’t know how a nail was shot through your index finger, but that was a lot of paperwork and a hospital visit.”

“That shouldn’t count,” Lucas argued halfheartedly. “That extern from the technical school shot me from across the room.”

“But if you hadn’t been on the phone with Emma you’d have seen him playing with the nail gun. Since you and Emma have cooled it,” Mo went on, “we’ve had no accidents.”

Lucas couldn’t argue with the truth. “You’re very observant,” he finally said.

“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.” Mo wiped his hair back and put his cap back in place, shielding the skin around his eyes that looked like it was made from cracked glass.

They walked to the back of the property, finding nails in the grass and pitching them into buckets along the walkway.

Mo’s daughter had stepped on a nail last year on Take Your Daughter to Work Day. Since then, the men cleaned up after themselves.

Lucas and Mo leaned against the back fence, admiring the gray house with the pink accent shutters.

“I gave Emma an ultimatum: be on the plane tomorrow or it’s over.”

Mo looked as if he’d tasted something sour. “You’re not too bright today, huh?”

“First you say I don’t care, and now I’m not smart?”

They gathered up the old shutters the workers had taken down and loaded them into the back of the pickup.

“Lucas, you can’t issue an ultimatum to a woman and expect her to give you food and sex.”

“I didn’t give it to her. I told Doreen.”

“Her assistant? You just officially crossed over into wimp territory.”

“Emma hasn’t returned my calls.”

“Dude, do I have to explain what that means in women’s language?”

“No.”

Mo just shook his head as Lucas picked up the street sign he’d knocked down and dragged it inside the gate to deal with later.

Once they were done for the day, Lucas went inside and dialed Emma’s number. All he got was a message that her voice mail was full.

Everything that had and hadn’t transpired between them over the last eight months came flooding back. The promises that she’d come down to Key West, his disappointment when she hadn’t. His messages asking her to call him, her failure to phone back. The cancelled trips, Emma’s emotional distance and his nonchalance about it, their missed phone calls, their tendency to mainly communicate via voice mail.

Before he could hang up he was transferred to Doreen’s voice mail. “This is Doreen Gamble. I’m away from my desk, but if it’s important you can page me at 5546, or leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you right away.”

He had no doubt that she’d call him back.

Her voice was as warm and welcoming as her smile and he’d taken advantage of her. Lucas’s first inclination was to page her, but he didn’t. He needed to settle things with Emma. The beep sounded in his ear, and he took a breath to speak, though he didn’t know what to say.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, and hung up before “I’m sorry” could come out.

He’d have to do it when he was thinking clearly. Maybe tomorrow. Just not today.

Doreen waited patiently for Emma to finish her conversation with the president of Regents Cable. For having been promoted only a month ago, she was confident and personable with the head honcho.

“Yes, Jeffrey, I’ll be glad to attend the network meeting with you next month. I’m honored you chose me.” She nodded her head as if he could see her and smiled brightly, giving Doreen the thumbs-up, her new symbolic gesture of success. Doreen just hoped she didn’t do that at the Black Greek convention. They’d skewer her.

Emma had made it. She’d moved on up, as the old saying went.

Shaquemma Rowena Johnson had been born and bred in Brooklyn, had attended State University of New York at Buffalo, and had graduated with a degree in communications. She’d worked her way up through the ranks of three networks and two cable companies.

In seventeen years since college graduation she’d shed her heavy accent, thick eyebrows and overbearing attitude, and had polished, injected and dieted away all other unseemly features.

She’d studied women of power, and now she was the one wearing the expensive suit, carrying the top-of-the-line Louis Vuitton briefcase, having power lunches. She was now legally Emma Jones, a woman to be reckoned with.

Emma hung up her phone, caressing the black receiver with her fingertip.

Without looking up at Doreen she said, “I need you to go to Key West and end my engagement to Lucas.”

Doreen blinked at her. “What?”

“Break up with Lucas and I’ll give you five extra days of vacation.”

“He’s expecting you to be there tomorrow.” All the respect Doreen had for Emma was sucked up by Greta’s vacuum cleaner as she moved by the executive’s outer door.